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Saturday, 7 February 2015

stories so far: mud

The
freshly turned mud in the field was red and baking in the sun. There
was nothing else for miles - just the lone figure of a gnarled hollow
tree there in the distance.

“I saw it out of the corner of my eye
at first, but then I turned around and couldn't look away. It seemed
to come out of nowhere.”

The twisted, sinewy branches were
outstretched and beckoning her. Its leaves billowing and wild –
like an old shirt on a scarecrow.

“I
wanted to go over – to be brave enough to take a look and explore.
But no one else saw it. I asked the others to look and come with me,
but they wouldn't or couldn't. They carried on talking as if nothing
was there. We walked away. But I knew what it was.”

She
told me that this memory had been held within her, stored and locked
away for many years. That it was never spoken about. But the desire
was always there, burning away. The wild woman inside. A calling to
be outside – to feel and be part of it. To see and explore what was
really there. Until one day she heard a voice.

“Run
towards the hollow trees, get inside, taste the mud in your mouth and
rain on your face. Explore the world and the earth beneath your toes.
Grow your roots in the earth and blossom.”

“Let
me go, let me see!” she said.

This time she was ready. She wasn't scared. She
climbed inside the old tree trunk and sat and listened to the
whisper.

She
has always been there. With her wizened leathery skin and bright blue
spark in her eyes – no one really knows how old she is. You will
find her in the hollow trees and the terracotta earth, in the ice
wind that burns your face, in the cool spring water washing your
grazed knees when you fall. She is happy and proud - covered in mud,
playing and singing in the dirt and earth, the feel and taste of it gritty between her teeth. Those precious times when we are in her
world.

“Go
for it – be free, you are beautiful, what is there for you to worry
about? You are home.” Featured on: Ice, Water, Steam